The Coach House (5 page)

“When will all this start?”

“They don’t plan to break ground until the spring, and then it will take a year to a year and a half to build it. I have a preliminary meeting with them and the architects next week. I have hit the jackpot!” He took her glass, put it on the counter, and swung her around the kitchen. His eyes glistened. “Let’s go dancing tonight.”

“Richard, I think you need to calm down, or you’ll be the one who needs the iron lung.”

“Nonsense! I’m invincible! Didn’t you know that?”

* * *

It was in February 1946, just days before their wedding when Marie and Richard left his apartment at five a.m. in an attempt to arrive at his parents’ home in time for dinner. Marie was excited about the trip and hoped things would surface during the visit that would expose family ties that Richard had thus far circumvented.

The interminable ride to Johnston City, all three hundred miles of it, was comprised mostly of expansive flat fields and trees whose branches were weighed down by snow and ice. The landscape didn’t change much from one mile to the next, like one Christmas card scene after another and another and another, as they moved through small towns like Kankakee, Paxton, and Rantoul.

The radio blared.

Headin’ for the station with a pack on my back

I’m tired of transportation in the back of a hack

“Richard, you haven’t really told me very much about them,” she said to him after a couple of hours.

He made a face. “Where do I start? Johnston City, Illinois. Where all the men work in those god-awful coal mines, ten, sometimes twelve hours a day. My dad is still there as far as I know.”

She couldn’t help but notice his usual confident demeanor suddenly turning awkward when he spoke of his family. “You don’t see your parents very often.”

His eyes were vacant, his lips tight. “No.”

“So you don’t keep in touch with your brother or sister, either?”

“I don’t go home very often, Marie. When I left there for Chicago, with just $48.25 in my pocket by the way, I swore I’d never look back. And I haven’t.”

“Not much to start out with.” His story disturbed her. She would have given anything to have a family.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“So your penchant for sales didn’t come from your father?”

“My what?”

“Penchant…your liking.”

“Hell, no. I had to come up with my own ways to make money.”

At lunch he told her about his teenage years. “I used to go down to the local bar and look for someone to play pool with. Easy money.”

“Other teens?”

“No. Grown men. Out-of-towners. Chumps, mostly. They looked at me, this gangly little kid, and thought I’d be a pushover for a few bucks.”

“So you were good?”

“Not really. But all I had to do was watch their first couple of shots, find their weak spot, and then play into it. Ha! Piece a cake.”

Tuscola, Mattoon, Effingham. All the small towns looked the same after a while. It may have been three hundred miles by the map, Marie thought, but it felt much longer driving it. The radio broke their silence between conversations.

Cold hard labor, it’s the labor of love

Convicted of crimes, the crimes of passion

Caught in a chain gang, the chains of fools

Solitary confinement, confined by the rules

“Not exactly what one wants to hear a week before getting married,” he said, referring to the song lyrics.

“I’ll change the station. If you hear the rest of it, you may change your mind,” she teased.

As they drove through Mount Vernon, the town adjacent to his family home, the countryside slowly turned into a haphazard sprawl of small homes and run-down businesses.

“Well, my darling, we’re almost there. Now, don’t expect much. They live in a small…”

“Richard, please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Apologize for what they have or don’t have. Let me form my own opinions…okay?”

He sent her a sidelong glance. “Whatever you say, dear.”

It
was
a small house, too small to imagine five people living in all at one time. Alan and Bernice met them at the front door. Bernice wore her long black hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head. Her dress was worn but clean. Her hands revealed a lifetime of hard work.

“Come in. Come in.” Bernice hugged Marie without being introduced. Her husband Alan stood behind her with an expressionless face. He wore an old pair of jeans and a stark, white tee-shirt on his too-thin body. He nodded at Richard as he ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

“Come here, son. It’s so good to see you!”

Richard stooped down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.

“Sit down. Sit down. Dinner is almost ready,” she instructed.

Richard’s brother and sister were already seated at the table. Both were younger than he, though they looked older.

The furnishings were exceedingly modest, nothing even remotely approaching modern or matching for that matter. The few pieces of upholstered furniture were close to threadbare with towels and rags covering the worst areas on the arms and headrests. The walls hadn’t seen fresh paint in some time, and the hardwood floors had obviously seen better days.

“Something smells good, Mrs. Marchetti,” Marie commented, unable to identify the aroma. “Can I help you with anything?” She heard Richard snicker behind her. Marie had limited cooking skills. She would get him for that later.

“No, everything is done. I’ve just been keeping it warm until you got here. How was the drive, Richard?”

“Not bad.” He looked at his watch. “We made it in just under twelve hours.”

“Hmm,” his father grunted. It was his first spoken word since their arrival.

Bernice placed several mismatched bowls on the table. It was an interesting combination of food: spaghetti, meatballs, carrots, mashed potatoes, and lima beans. They passed the dishes around. Out of respect for Bernice, Marie put a little of everything on her plate. She looked for the sauce for the spaghetti. There didn’t appear to be any.

“You’re not hungry, Dad?”

Bernice answered for him. “You know your father. If he doesn’t eat by five, he thinks he’s going to faint from hunger.” She turned to Marie. “He ate earlier,” she whispered, as though Alan couldn’t hear from his seat next to her.

“So, Marie, tell us about yourself. Are you originally from Chicago?”

Marie talked about her mom, schools she attended, and work. They asked her how she and Richard met. Richard didn’t give Marie the opportunity to answer. “A mutual friend introduced us, Mom. I think I told you that.” In addition to lying about how they met, he was being standoffish, borderline unpleasant. Marie didn’t understand why.

They finished dinner and went into the living room. Richard took the chair in the corner, farthest away from everyone else. Marie heard his teeth grinding clear across the room.

Marie sat on one end of the small sofa, and Alan sat on the other. Bernice wedged herself between them in a space too narrow for anyone to be comfortable. Marie looked at Richard for help, but he seemed distracted by something out the window.

“Malia, I understand you’re a new mother. How’s the baby?” Marie asked.

“Mariabella is fine. She’s home with my husband. I didn’t want to wake her by bringing her over here.” She continued talking about the baby and how she had changed their lives. Bernice, the proud grandmother, chimed in every once in a while. The three men were silent.

Marie asked Tom what he did for a living. His uncombed hair, dingy clothes, teeth not even close to being even, and sallow skin put him worlds apart from his brother, at least in appearance. “I work at the library. Stocking the shelves…mostly, anyhow.”

“Alan has read every book in the library,” Bernice added. “Haven’t you, dear?” She glanced at her husband with a proud expression.

Alan nodded.

“That’s very impressive, Mr. Marchetti,” Marie exclaimed. “My favorite book is
Of Human Bondage.
Have you read it?”

“Yes. Some years ago. Somerset Maugham. Did an
amazing
job creating the characters. I read a biography about him. His background’s similar to the main character of the book, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that,” she confessed. “Tell me about it.” She glanced at Richard who was clenching the arms of the chair, lips pressed so tightly together they almost disappeared.

“Both were orphaned at a young age. The character in the book had a club foot. Maugham had a stammer. Both were self-destructive, especially when it came to women. The man in the book went to school in England, so did Maugham. The list goes on.”

“That’s very interesting,” Marie said. “You mentioned the characters. There sure were a lot of them, but when I was done I felt like I knew each one personally, like I had gone through it all with them. Do you agree, Mr. Marchetti?”

Alan mumbled something. Richard made some sort of deprecating sound in the back of his throat. Marie looked at him. He gave her a “what are you doing?” look.

They continued talking until Malia announced it was past her bedtime and needed to go home. Tom did the same.

After Richard looked at his watch for the hundredth time, Bernice asked him if they wanted to stay there for the night. “We can put up the cot in the living room. One of you could take that and the other one could sleep on the sofa.”

“No, Mother. We have a hotel room waiting for us in Urbana.”

Everyone said their good-byes, and Marie and Richard got in his car and drove off. Neither one said anything the first mile or so. Marie broke the silence. “Well, I think your family is very nice. You’re lucky to have them.”

No response.

“I’m impressed with your father. Imagine reading every book in the library!”

Richard rolled his eyes. “That’s
very
interesting, because when I was a boy, he couldn’t read at all.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, the man couldn’t read. One of us kids would have to read things to him.”

“When did they come to this country?”

“Well, it had to be before they were six, because that’s when they say they met.”

“How about your mother? Does she read?”

“She can read in Italian, but not English. He couldn’t even read in Italian.”

“You must be very proud of him, then.”

“Why?”

“Learning to read as an adult, in a foreign language, and reading every book in the town library. I would say that’s quite an accomplishment.”

“Okay.”

Marie stayed silent for a minute, wondering if furthering the discussion was a good idea. “Your mother is a bit of a character.”

“That she is.” The tone in his voice was flat.

“Your brother and sister seem nice.”

Richard turned on the radio and stared at the road ahead.

“You didn’t say two words to your brother. Don’t the two of you get along?”

“We don’t have much to talk about. We had nothing in common as kids.”

What I’d give to have a sister with nothing in common.
Marie turned down the volume. “But you’re not kids anymore.”

Richard grunted.

Marie couldn’t let it go. “What exactly is your problem? You didn’t say two words the whole time we were there, and when you did say something, it came out so cold. And now it’s like you don’t even want to talk about them. After coming all this way.”

He sighed before responding. “Look, there’s a lot you don’t know. Things in the past that I would just as soon stay there. I’m really not very comfortable around them.”

“I could see that.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like to grow up with nothing, scrimping and saving for everything. And then still having nothing.”

“You had each other.”

Another grunt.

“They need you, you know.”

“Can we change the subject?”

In bed at the hotel that night, Richard propped himself up against the pillows. “You want to talk, don’t you?” he asked after taking a healthy swallow of wine.

She looked at his solemn face. “Well, I don’t want to make a bad situation any worse.”

“And the bad situation, that would be the visit?”

“Yes.” She hesitated before she went any further. “But it didn’t
have
to be, and
that’s
what’s bothering me.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Instead he put his arm around her and stroked her shoulder with his fingers, sending pleasant chills down her spine. “I can’t argue your point,” he admitted. “You’re right. You are absolutely right. I acted like a jerk.”

She spoke slowly and deliberately. “Could it be that it’s not your mother or father or your sister or brother that bother you, but it’s their home, the tiny little coal mining town they live in, their lack of money, their lack of status? Would I be far off in saying that?”